


BASIC

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Slice of Life, zero percent angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: The untidy mass of fire-red hair behind a portable computer screen twitches. Its owner slides a little lower in his seat, very clearly trying to hide. But his legs are too long for the small booth, and his feet are poking out. Aziraphale would recognise those boots anywhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 270





	BASIC

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisasterdi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi/gifts).



> I am HELLA LATE with this, but this is my little present, just a small thank you for all the incredible amount of work that goes into running the GO Events server 💗💗💗
> 
> Prompt: one hobby that a character(s) has indulged in over the last 6000 years.

It’s a sad day for Aziraphale: the quaint little bakery he loves to drop by every morning has closed for renovation, and it will stay closed for an entire month.

He trudges reluctantly into the Starbucks next door, trying not to look too offended by its existence. It’s very difficult for him, but needs must. He’s feeling rather peckish and doesn’t want to walk any farther than he has to, not on this cold winter day.

He’s in line fantasising about danishes when he spots him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale hears the surprised joy in his own voice and clears his throat, trying to tone it down a little. “Crowley, is that you?”

The untidy mass of fire-red hair behind a portable computer screen twitches. Its owner slides a little lower in his seat, very clearly trying to hide. But his legs are too long for the small booth, and his feet are poking out. Aziraphale would recognise those boots anywhere.

He makes his way to the demon, prepared to act offended at his complete lack of manners - but stops in his tracks when he gets a full view of Crowley’s attire. In the 6000 years he’s known him, he’s never seen his friend in sweatpants. Neither has he ever seen him wearing an old, washed out t-shirt that says  _ I have a reptile dysfunction _ on the front. (Ah, that’s clever though.)

Crowley’s long hair is gathered in a thick braid that falls heavy on his left shoulder, and a stubborn hair band is doing its uttermost best to pull back his fringe - without being very successful at it.

The demon has dark shadows under his eyes, and he sighs deeply before looking up at Aziraphale through his usual black glasses.

“Hey.”

“Wh—Crowley! What happened to you? You look like a human that hasn’t slept or showered for a week!”

Crowley begins raising an elbow as if he’s about to smell his armpit, thinks better of it, and shrugs instead. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy with my hobby.”

Aziraphale swats him on the arm to make him slide farther into the booth, so that he can sit down next to Crowley and look at his screen. The demon makes a protesting noise, but Aziraphale decides to ignore that the seat is barely big enough for two full-grown human-shaped creatures.

“Is that… coding?”

Crowley’s gaze, focused on the point where the side of their thighs press close together, snaps back up to the angel’s face. His mouth forms a perfect, surprised ‘o’ for a few seconds. “How do you, of all people, know what this is?”

“Oh, I’ve been interested since the 80s. Have you not seen my computer?”

Crowley sputters out a random array of consonants. “You call that thing a computer?”

“It was the latest, most powerful model! When I bought it. Either way, it still functions flawlessly.” He spots that Crowley is about to object and continues, “So, do you want my help or not?”

Crowley purses his lips together, frowns, and then deflates. He points to the screen, currently stuck on a long list of red errors in the console on the left, and 50-something StackOverflow tabs in the browser on the right.

“Please.”

Aziraphale starts typing and it takes him maybe three entire minutes to correct Crowley’s code, while the demon watches him, slack-jawed.

“There we go, all done.”

“How?!” The angel hits  _ run _ and the program compiles flawlessly before his incredulous eyes.

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale wiggles in his seat, his hand tapping away on the trackpad. “You just have to believe things will work out. They usually do.”

Crowley nods, swallows, and makes a decision.

The world seems to move in slow motion around them as he puts his hand over Aziraphale’s. He stares stubbornly at the computer screen, at his little program that is built to send a notification to the angel’s old phone anytime a first edition of something goes up on eBay’s books section.

_ You have to believe things will work out _ , he repeats to himself.

Just when he’s about to give up, pull back and apologise, Aziraphale’s hand under his flips over, so that they’re palm against palm, their fingers intertwined. When he looks over to the angel, he has a little wobbly smile on his face, his cheeks are a lovely shade pink.

“Does this mean breakfast is on you?” Aziraphale asks, quiet and soft, as if he means something completely different from what he’s asking.

“Yes.” Crowley replies, without hesitation. “Absolutely.”


End file.
